A Daughter's Vengeance
by KathRoyale
Summary: A cruel twist of fate leaves Hermione motherless at the age of ten. Convinced she is at fault for the murder, Hermione starts to despise not only herself, but the magic she was born with. The result? She throws her Hogwarts letter into the flames. Six years, a different prophecy and a disguised Harry later, the Chosen One is at Hermione's muggle school. He's searching for a witch.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger shuddered violently as the wind rocked her small frame. Stumbling, she managed to grasp a branch and sighed in silent thanks.

Her bulky backpack was slung strategically over both shoulders, as she kept her head down and ran from the bitter rain. After a few more blocks, she awkwardly approached her front door, her legs almost buckling in her haste to get dry.

Hermione didn't bother to ring the doorbell. A tiny electrical bolt, shot, controlled, out of her fingertips. There was a satisfying click as the lock unwound itself. She gently pried open the door as silently as she could, sliding in the crack.

The house was silent.

She slunk up the stairs, double-checking that she avoided the one that creaked, and reached her room. She collapsed on the bed. She could really care less about the rain getting in her pillow.

Hermione had hoped, after entering high school, that the teasing would get better. For the first time that week, she allowed a tentative smile cross her lips. It actually had.

After, admittedly, many years, her strategic brain had figured out patterns in behavior. _Rant about school : Shoved into lockers. Raise a hand : Stolen lunch._

And so she had stopped.

Hermione rubbed her grubby hands together, feeling the chill for the first time and gathered up the blankets. She took care to tuck in the corners, her hyperactive brain immediately studying the imperfections in her swaddling method.

She'd stopped.

Standing out, drawing attention. She still was smart, of course, but directed her energy into schoolwork. Essays, documentaries. It was all there. The small, proud smile that had risen slowly faded off of her face.

However… Despite all of her accomplishments, it felt as if her personality had disappeared. Everything that had ever made her unique, special, had evaporated along with any desire to appear extraordinary.

She shook her head, braving the cold as she scurried across the freezing bedroom floor. Grabbing the novel, she removed the bookmark and placed it lightly on her desk, and hopped back into her covers.

"Pride and Prejudice," she said aloud, tracing the letters of the title. "We could all use a little cleverness sometimes." She carefully held the book open and set a timer.

She gave herself exactly fifteen minutes, inwardly promising that she would finish her project by nine.

"Zzz! Zzz!" Hermione's head shot up.

"What...?" She managed to say before scrambling for her alarm. Her eyes darted worriedly around the room as if she was afraid someone would hear it. Finally pressing the snooze, she slouched in her bed and picked up her book from the floor.

She yawned and briefly wondered if her stepmother, Jen, had arrived home.

She quietly went down the stairs, walking into the kitchen. Taking an apple from the counter, she bit into it, and only then realized how quickly her ravenous appetite had grown.

The door opened again, and Hermione quickly ran up the stairs, stopping halfway to where she could hear them.

"Anyone home?" Jen Granger yelled.

There was no response.

"Good," came the cool voice of her stepmother. Her lips inadvertently curved into a small, cruel smile and Hermione wondered what would have happened if she had responded. She gave a small shudder, backing away into the shadows as Jen glanced her way.

The woman shrugged halfheartedly and began unpacking groceries. After a few more minutes, the door burst open for the second time.

"Yeah!" Addy charged up the hall, running wildly. She stopped, looking around in panic. "Mom! Where's my legos?"

"Sweetheart," Jen said, rolling her eyes. They had adopted a kindly sheen to them as she cooed at her own _idealistic_ children. "I put them away in the cupboard. Remember to keep them on the _carpet_ this time. If I see a single one on the floor... " she trailed off and shot her a mock threatening look.

Hermione felt a stab of longing but ignored it, walking stealthily up the rest of the steps. She didn't even wait for her brother. She sighed, locking herself in the room and looking at the apple distantly. It seemed so perfect, so round.

So _unlike_ her.

Hermione muttered nonsense to herself, grabbing her blankets again. She, with her pale white face and untameable hair. She, with her nerdy glasses and abnormal _accidents_. A mistake, an anomaly.

She, a murderer.

She quickly finished her apple and opened Pride and Prejudice. Hermione flipped the pages and started reading, becoming fully engrossed in the novel.

Before long, she reluctantly dragged herself out of bed and put on her robe. Instantly, a spark shot out of her finger. She let out a horrified yelp, quickly swatting away the flames. The fire glowed purple for just the hint of a second, and she barely remembered to muffle her horrified screams.

Running to her bathroom, she distinguished it under the tap. Hermione bit her lip. _Nobody can know_ , she mentally repeated. _Nobody can know, nobody can know._ They'd take her away for… science experiments, and then she'd be just another statistical death in the news.

She sighed again, putting her hair in a messy bun, little strands everywhere, and began the laborious process of getting all of her variables set up.

"The sulfur reacts with monoxide?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Interesting." The rest of the evening she played around with her scientific research, struggling to ignore that her family hadn't remembered to call her for dinner.

And despite her hatred for Jen, the woman that had split apart her home, Hermione let one tear slip.

* * *

Hermione took caution to get into the bus in between everybody else. Her tiny body slipped easily into the flow of talking people, and she immediately headed for the back of the bus. Dark circles stood out against her pale skin, the freckles dotting her nose almost fading into invisibility.

She stopped in her tracks as she realized that there was already someone sitting in her designated spot. Quickly shuffling away, Hermione averted her eyes from the boy, almost tripping over her feet as she landed in the seat in front.

She kept her eyes firmly on her hands.

"Everyone buckled in?" The driver yelled loudly, making her jump. Hermione hastily fastened her seatbelt, hoping nobody would spare her a glance.

"Right! We're moving!" The engine geared up and made a sound like a large, angry cat. Hermione gave a smile as she filed the thought into her 'amusing' folder. She privately wondered if she would ever own a cat. She stifled a small laugh: she didn't even like the creatures. Perhaps in another life?

"Friendly blo - uh, guy, isn't he?" She gave a small shiver and spun around, unintentionally whipping the stranger with her hair.

"Sorry!" She squeaked. "I… um… sorry!"

He had scruffy brown hair, a strange bolt shaped scar above one of his eyebrows, and his eyes were a dull blue. The boy's smile brightened as he laughed, and Hermione irrationally thought it made the boy look beautiful.

She unintentionally cocked her head to the side: a product no doubt produced by social media.

After staring at him for a while, he scratched the back of his head awkwardly and Hermione noticed how it stuck up weirdly at the back. He blinked, his squared glasses making his eyes seem larger than they actually were.

"Well, I'm Harrison Dublin, but you can call me Harry if you like. I mean you don't have to," he added quickly, her horrified look confusing him.

"Oh. Sorry again. It was nice to meet you." She sat quickly looked down again, getting out her book and wondered what her mother would have thought of her behavior. She gave a wince as she opened up _Little Women_.

"Oh… okay." The boy, Harrison, trailed off. "Can I at least get your name?"

She hesitated, seriously contemplating ignoring him. Eventually, she decided that it would simply draw even more unwanted attention to herself.

"It's Hermione," she told him reluctantly. _You'll forget it in a day anyway_.

His eyebrows scrunched up in an endearing way. "Her-mi-on-ie?"

She smiled slightly. "Correct." _You're welcome mom,_ she thought. _That's my good deed of the day._

"Thanks, Hermione. Also, this is the final thing, swear, do you know where classroom 52A is?" A sense of dread started to build up inside her throat and she resisted the urge to throw the, _Special Edition_ 1923, book at his head. The rational side of her eventually squashed that thought.

52A. She double checked her memory and sighed, holding her forehead. He was in her homeroom. She pondered lying for a second, before dismissing it as a stupid idea. He would find out as soon as he stepped foot inside the classroom.

"I guess we're classmates," she forced out. "Just follow me when we get there." He brightened, seeming more youthful than he had been before.

"It'll be so nice to know someone." Hermione shook her head tiredly, inwardly hoping she didn't have to explain that she was a total loner.

"Please don't talk to me," she pleaded. "I'm just… shy."

He looked puzzled. "Aren't introverts not embarrassed around just a few people?" His eyes twinkled with the kind of mischief Hermione tended to stay, preferably, a hundred yards away from.

She shook her head again. "It's not that. It's complicated." _As in you're attractive and girls will be chasing after you. And then they'll want to talk to me. Therefore, complicated._

She started reading again, trying to ignore him without success.

"Hermione?" He poked her head, trying to gain her attention. Hermione, in retaliation, studiously ignored him, biting her bottom lip so hard that she drew blood.

"My iguana is flying," Harrison said blandly. He poked her arm once more. "I'm on fire. Aliens are descending from a portal in the sky. My patronus is a stag. It's called Prongs. Hermione, I forgot my homework."

"Homework?" She asked, regaining focus. "We had _summer homework_?" She struggled to calm her racing heart as she scrambled with her book bag. A few papers flew onto the opposite chair as she mentally threw up.

Harry laughed loudly, and she shushed him quickly, giving him what was most likely the worst glare he had ever received.

"Figures the one about homework concerns you more than all the others," he chuckled. She sighed.

"And what the bloody heck is a Prongs?" Hermione quietly demanded. "I mean, a prong is a three shafted - "

"Hey!" Harrison protested, looking mildly indignant. "It is a deer! And - "

"And just because I care about my grades does not mean I don't care," she interrupted boldly, before realized what she was doing. She quickly put her hand down and dipped her head.

Lecturing was just a cause of bullying, and being bullied caused others to notice. The last thing Hermione possibly wanted was to be noticed.

"Er… is the ride normally this long?" Hermione permitted herself a small chuckle. The boy was amusing, if slightly irritating. She wondered when she could get back to her book. She was at a very exciting part where -

He grinned. "Blimey! A smile! I thought I'd never get it out of you."

Hermione startled and blushed beet red. "I didn't smile," she said quietly trying to make her mouth point downwards. "And why do you suddenly sound British?"

He smirked crookedly. "I'm moving from there… I guess my fake American accent worked. Sort of." A guarded look appeared on his face. "Well, you could tell it was British. Bloody hell. I'm messing this up already."

"Well, I used to live there too," she admitted, then let out a surprised breath. She hadn't told anyone that, besides her friends in kindergarten. She pursed her lips, wondering what was wrong with her.

"Really?" Harry asked, looking strangely interested. His eyes seemed to flicker a flaming green. "Where?"

"Northern Scotland," she replied immediately. Her eyes widened as she digested what she had said. She jumped back from the crack between the seats, her heart pounding, and refused to look back at him. Her hands gripped the cushion so tightly that she half expected them to explode. She took a deep inhale and forced herself to be calm.

That wasn't natural. Strike one, okay. But two? She _never_ made mistakes, especially not ones as careless as that.

She took a another breath.

"Yeah." She managed. "It was fascinating. You… you can follow me to homeroom, but please stay away from me." She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. And while she relaxed, part of her heart seemed to sink.

When she exited the bus, she again made sure she was in the middle of the crowd. She tried not to get jostled, making her way off to the side as she stepped into the building.

Making her way up the stairs, she opened her locker and hung her plain bag on the hook, retrieving her binder and math textbook. She took a small glance at her agenda and also brought up her science notes, quickly re-reading the essay she had written for extra credit.

She saw Harrison out of the corner of her eye, talking to the homeroom teacher. Hermione saw him laugh uproariously at professor and frowned in disapproval. A moment later, he walked up to her. Pretending not to notice him, she managed to say,

"What are you doing?" She tried to keep her voice as steady as possible but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. She clenched her fists, unsure if she was angry or frightened.

He shrugged noncommittally and Hermione forced herself not to glare at him. "Apparently we share a locker too. Where's the key?"

She blinked in slight surprise at the question. "Key?"

"Yes." he smirked at her mystified expression. "You know, the pointy things that open doors?"

"Oh," she huffed, her eyebrows creased in annoyance. Her patience was beginning to run thin. "Well, in America, we have things called locker combinations. It's the new age, Harrison." She proceeded to explain the basics of the small circle, showing him the password and how to input it.

"Well, goodbye," she said quickly at the end, scurrying away as fast as she deemed was a reasonable speed. She instantly backed away and almost ran into the classroom.

Please don't talk to me, she thought, as if pleading to some higher deity. Please, mom, _please_ don't let him talk to me.

Hermione sat in the back corner and made it obvious she was taking out a book. She opened up Little Women and sighed in relief. Her spine slowly unfurled and she relaxed.

That... well, that lasted about 5 seconds.

Harrison, or Harry, whatever he called himself, approached her. Still with that _annoying_ smile on his face. He waved, not saying a word. A couple of classmates looked at them, confusion evident in their gaze as they clearly wondered what the attractive new student was doing with the designated school nerd.

"What. Are. You. Doing." She hissed, burning shame creeping up her neck. He scribbled something on a piece of paper in his pocket.

 _You said not to talk to you. Not that I couldn't sit with you. (:_

Hermione grit her teeth, crumpling the paper in her palm. She looked at him warningly.

"Please go away," she said quietly, turning her gaze back to her book. Harrison paused for a second, before grabbing the piece of paper again and writing something else down.

 _But it's fun annoying you :P_

Hermione blinked back her suddenly watery eyes. It wasn't until she had wiped them away did she realize she had been hoping he would be her friend. As _if._

"I don't like it," she said softly. "Please, go away."

He hesitated, then wrote another word on the paper.

 _Okay._

Hermione dipped her head back into the book as a sense of self loathing rose up inside of her. _Congratulations, idiot. You ruined the first potential friendship you've had in fifteen years._

Her eyes skimmed the page, but she barely saw the words.

She closed her eyes and subtly shifted seats so that she was facing the wall away from Harrison. She bowed her head and wiped the shimmering tears off of Pride and Prejudice.

 _As. If._

* * *

It had been an entire day. A day filled with, while rather mild, fervent inward cursing. Hermione felt a mixture of relief and personal doubt as she readied herself for bed. She quickly picked up the most androgynous sweater of her collection, analyzing it for a second before tossing it on.

She sniffled, digging her fingernails into her palms as she scolded herself for being so fragile. The lack of teasing over the years had broken down the immunity to hurt that she had built up - brick by tedious brick. It wasn't something she would complain about, of course, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

Her arms were unnaturally skinny, most likely due to years without proper meals. Her stepmother seemed to be sadistically fond of withholding food by isolating Hermione from the rest of the family and forcing her to fend for herself. The exclusion had been going on for almost a decade, since the day John had been born.

Her younger brother, John, was a studious boy at almost twelve years old. He had light brown hair and inherited his blue eyes from his mother. However, he had also gained many traits from Hermione's biological father, such as naturally broad shoulders and a small torso.

Following his birth, Jen, her stepmother, had internally decided that Hermione was no longer pure enough for the family. She disliked any mention of Hermione's birth mother, despite the fact that the young girl loved her fiercely. Jen wanted nothing to do with the woman who had died -

And that had included Hermione.

From then on, she subtly started excluding her from the little things, family meetings, hiking trips, even forgetting to pack her lunch. Hermione had been so preoccupied with hiding herself and despising the very air that she breathed that she didn't notice until it was too late.

She was no longer included in what they considered 'family'.

Time passed… and then the next child was born. Her second sibling, Addy. Unlike John, who was starting to notice the difference in equality where Hermione was concerned, Addy was carefree. At only seven, her little sister seemed to be taking after her mother in terms of concern about Hermione's wellbeing.

Hermione struggled to fall asleep, battling with her thoughts. She despised thinking about her family - those who had cast her away and shunned her when she was no longer an academic prodigy. Sometimes she wondered if her father had ever even loved her.

Finally, after an hour of tossing, she finally managed to fall into an uneasy slumber. That's how she stayed, for precisely seventeen minutes as her body slowly fell into the serene oblivion. Then came the flashes.

Hermione found herself in the middle of the road.

Her heart started pounding as she recognised the scene. She had seen it more than a dozen times and had it memorized: each gruesome detail seared into her memory.

"Mother," a tiny version of Hermione said, smiling. She was holding the hand of a beautiful middle aged woman wearing a soft cotton shirt and casual jeans. She had brown hair and a warm smile, but was most striking about her were her pale green eyes, so luminescent they appeared translucent. Her kindly green eyes was a feature that Hermione hadn't been lucky enough to gain.

Hermione watched them as they walked, tears already forming in her eyes. She was far too conscious that it was a nightmare. She walked bitterly to keep up with them, studying the looks of contentment on both of their faces, both her mother and her younger self.

Hermione closed her eyes and refused to look up at the sky. She knew what was happening. The clouds billowed, expanding further and further as they blackened. Thunder crackled, spraying debris across the pebbled street.

Hermione's mother dragged her small daughter behind her, shielding her from the rubble and taking a large stone to the shoulder.

"Mother," Hermione gasped, looking terrified as she tried to touch the wound. "Mother, you're bleeding!" Emma Granger brushed it off, backing away and forcing Hermione behind her.

"Keep quiet, honey." They ducked behind a small tree, her mother shielding Hermione with her own body. "We must be quiet," Emma continued. "This storm isn't natural. I can't see a higher ground but we have to find something!"

A blast behind them made them both spin around. Hermione involuntarily sobbed, watching the black figures descending from the sky. Cloaked in darkness, they surged forward, lighting the small city on fire. Her mother screamed, pinning Hermione to the ground to avoid the flames.

"Get up," Emma barked, strained under the pressure. Hermione obeyed instantly, too good of a child not to follow an order from her mother.

Another explosion knocked them off of their feet and Hermione couldn't bring herself to turn away. One of the men had broken off from the group and was heading their way. The little girl couldn't leave her mother and tried to drag her to her feet.

"My ankle," Emma gasped. "It's broken!" She spun her head around and caught sight of the man walking. She turned back around, slowly and propped herself up on her arms, covering most of Hermione's frame.

"Honey," she whispered, each syllable drawn out. "I want you to run."

"Mother!" Hermione gasped, her eyes wide with betrayal. "I can't! I simply can't! I will never abandon you!" Her eyes were wide and her entire body was shaking but Emma steadied her daughter with a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you sweetheart." The man was close enough to touch. Emma lunged for him, catching him off guard, and Hermione finally noticed a glowing green hologram floating in the air. Shimmering swiftly in the air was a disfigured skull. Through it, looped an equally terrifying snake.

Hermione gaped as Emma grappled with him.

"Run," Emma screamed. " _Run_!"

Hermione watched as her younger self refused to move and covered her mouth with her palm. Tears trickled down her fingers and she continued to cry. She would do anything to escape the recurring nightmare.

"No!" Hermione screamed, her hand instinctively shooting out. The man flew away from Emma as if slung. He landed a few feet away, steadily getting to his feet. He slowly brought his hand to his face, removing his mask. The silver sheet disintegrated and Hermione finally caught a look at his face.

He advanced and Hermione dragged Emma ungracefully away. "Let's go," she begged. "We have to _go!_ " Emma was looking at her daughter in a mixture of awe and fright. They were both pallid and terrified.

"Hermione, we don't have time. Go." The words were spoken with simple conviction. Emma pushed Hermione away from her, into the bushes. " _Go._ "

Hermione eyed her mother with hurt but didn't move. "I won't." It was probably the only time she had ever disobeyed her mother in her life.

" _Go,_ " Her mother screamed at her, finally releasing her emotions as she realized how close her daughter was from death. The facade of serenity faded as Emma snarled, pushing Hermione away from her.

The man had finally arrived. Emma propped herself up again, pushing herself in his way. "You'll have to deal with me first," she growled. He smiled at her.

And then he kicked her in the face.

A fury unlike any the young girl had ever felt rose up in her and as the elder Hermione stared down at her younger counterpart, she couldn't resist the surge of disgust that came every time she looked at herself in the mirror.

"Don't touch my mother!" Hermione screamed, rushing at him. The man didn't move, striking and grasping her by the throat.

He smiled cruelly, lifting them until they were face to face. He breathed in and out, his rancid breath causing her to involuntarily cringe.

"A..." he hissed, "mudblood." Hermione swung limp fists at him, hating how he just snarled in her face. There was an object in his hand, and when Hermione glanced at it, she assumed it was a weapon. Just the way he held it made the object seem threatening.

"Avada Ked - " With the last of her strength, Emma reached forward and dragged Hermione from his grasp, throwing her under herself.

"- avra." Hermione saw a flash of green as her mother's silhouette was illuminated by the light. Emma's body went limp and Hermione physically heard the abrupt halt of her heart.

The man kicked her mother aside.

Hermione's hands were covered in the blood from when he had throttled her. Her mouth was open in a silent horror, watching her mother's lifeless body slump to the ground.

"No..." her voice was hoarse. She struggled towards her mother. " _No!_ " Hermione let loose a scream that made the man stumbled back, dropping her to the ground. The stick was pointed at her heart but Hermione didn't care.

"I did it," Hermione said, mumbling to herself. The man readied himself, positioning the stick again. But Hermione just stood shakily to her feet, turned towards the man and stared at him with a face full of agony.

"That was my _mother_!" Hermione screamed loudly. The older version of herself watched, grief clouding her gaze as the smaller girl cried. Electricity cackled off of the surface of her skin, and for the first time, the man looked almost worried.

Hermione screamed one final time, the static detaching from her body and slamming into the man. He was thrown backwards once again and didn't move for five minutes. Hermione rushed to her mother, shaking her, begging her, hugging her. But there was nothing. The man finally got to his feet, stumbling away.

Hermione finally awoke, shooting upwards and desperately wiping her tearstained face. The imprint of the man was still in her mind, the terrible stick clutched in his gloved, blood stained fingers. She finched back, getting flashes of the memory.

The man, that terrible man…

Long blonde hair. Cold grey eyes. And a cruel smile that seemed more fitting on an animal than a human being.

She could already see the newspaper in her mind. It had been the thing she had woken up to. There had been officers barking, blood splattered on her chest and something grey covering her face.

Hermione Granger Discovered with Fifteen Dead Bodies. Hermione banished the terrible title from her mind, recounting the terrifying occurrence. _Nobody had survived._

When she had tried to explain, the police had dismissed it as a child looking for attention. Her tales of a skull, masked men and a green light was put to an abrupt halt after her father had yelled at her. It was declared a shooting, and that the murderer had gotten away.

And the very next year, on the anniversary of her mother's death, Hermione received a letter. A letter deeming that she had been accepted into a school of magic. _Magic._

That is, after all, word for word what she had described to the police. She had been heartbroken, unbelieving that her bullies would make fun of the death of her mother. In a rage, she had thrown the letter into the fire, disgusted by the thought of magic, her hatred of the unnatural power intensifying as her own self-loathing increased.

Nobody but Hermione knew the truth, because she had failed. Her mother had given up everything for her and Hermione, despite having ownership of the abomination of _magic_ , had failed to protect her.

It was almost as certain as if she had driven the knife into Emma's own heart. Hermione stared at her reflection, the gaunt, haunted figure barely blinking. She hated herself, loathed herself more than anyone.

 _Hermione had killed her mother._

* * *

 _As you can guess, Hermione is blaming herself for the death of her mother. This is one of the darkest chapters I've ever written so I just want to assure everyone that Hermione is **not** hurting herself and is **not** suicidal._

 _Harry is going to come in and develop a bond with Hermione, lifting the guilt that is on her shoulders. Thanks for reading the first chapter! Remember, the more popular this story is the faster I update! Thank you again (:_

 _Love,_

 _Kathie_


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione jolted awake with a gasp, grasping the pillow as furiously as she possibly could. Her nails dug into pallid palms as she shivered, struggling to recover from the vivid nightmare. She hastily dried her tears on the sleeve of her jumper, raking the other trembling hand through her hair. She closed her heavy lids, attempting to still her shaking chest.

Finally, she recovered enough to stagger to her feet.

Hermione's bloodshot eyes seemed to protrude grotesquely from the rest of her face as she blinked drowsily at her reflection. She silently grasped the handle of her lip balm and applied it, her lips starting to bleed from the indents of her teeth. It seemed a miracle that the household never noticed her shrill cries. She slunk quietly downstairs and gripped the stem of a crisp ruby apple, rolling it on the base of her fingertips.

Quietly, she bit into the fruit, savoring the flavor as the juice dripped down her chin. Hermione tucked her knees in and curled herself up on the couch, something she hadn't had the pleasure of doing in a long time.

Her tears finally diminished, slowly evaporating off of her face as she drifted into pondering thought. Her mind swam with the implications of the dream, one that hadn't occurred in over decade. It only served as a brutal reminder of what, in her mind, was a failure.

Hermione sighed, feeling the tears finally receding and her fluttering heart beginning to calm. Despite her jumper, she was still freezing and didn't dare turn on the thermostat in the irrational fear that her sleeping family would notice.

She pulled on a second jumper, allowing it to comfort her as she snuggled close, inhaling a waft of her mother's perfume and fell into an uneasy slumber…

The faintest pitter-patter of the rain jolted her awake; it took her a moment to identify a runner's footsteps. Hermione attempted to ignore it, but eventually sheer curiosity overwhelmed her. She reluctantly gathered her blanket around her and shuffled to the window, lifting the shades just a bit so that she could see the fog outside.

Her eyes widened just a sliver when the figure outside turned to wave cheerfully at her. She raised a tentative hand and lifted three fingers in response. The boy smiled, and jogged off. Hermione bit her lip, absolutely full of confusion as she turned back, her cheeks burning in what could've been surprise or pleasure.

* * *

Hermione mumbled something incoherent, her vision bleary from the night before. The teacher worriedly observed her out of the corner of her eye. It was so unlike her to be groggy.

"Good morning Professor Jennings," Hermione murmured, yawning before she could help it. She received a warm smile.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," she replied. "I was going to ask you to help me out but I see you're in no condition." Hermione shook her head, instantly awake. She held out her hand sheepishly to her calculus teacher, blinking the drowsiness from her eyelids.

"Oh no, my bad," she hastily apologized. "Of course I can help. Do you need any help grading the students' recent homework?" She had heard countless complaints from her fellow classmates about the unjust assignment.

The teacher eyed her skeptically. "Hermione…" she said warningly, but stopped at the determined look that had settled on her face. "If you're sure," she reluctantly reached for a pile of paper under her desk and handed them to her.

"I honestly don't know why you come to school so early," she pointed out. "You could definitely get far more sleep if you didn't push yourself so hard." Hermione sighed, shaking her head in what seemed to have become a signature of hers.

"It's no problem, Professor. It's honestly a relief to be away from the madness of the house." Hermione bit her lip, turning away from the her. _…or the unbearable loneliness,_ she added privately. In no time at all, Hermione had finished marking the papers, and they sat, pristine and alphabetically organized, on the professor's desk.

"Thank you Hermione," she said, looking pleased. "It never fails to amaze me that you always get it done." Hermione blushed down to the roots of her hair.

"Thank you Professor Jennings," she mumbled. She carefully grasped one of the computers that had regularly sat on the teachers desks and retreated to her regular corner of the room.

Hermione took the time to momentarily reflect on the turning point of her life. It had been quite an interesting experiment, in all actuality, for as soon as she had stopped desperately trying to win the approval of her professors and classmates, she had begun truly working to become a prodigy. Now, it seemed as if that was all for naught. The classwork had been getting easier; the university courses almost boring her. Hermione sighed, doing several of the equations in her head as she scanned them with her chocolate pupils.

"Done," she murmured, the hour long lesson reduced to nearly fifteen minutes. Her careful scribbles flickered for a second, and Hermione let out an inaudible gasp and concentrated on the potency of her pen on the paper. Sure enough, the equations, while fainter, remained. She steadied her heart, muttering to herself.

She wordlessly handed her paper to the Professor. "Is there anything else I could do to help?"

Professor Jennings studied her, a calculating gleam present in her eyes. Her posture was relaxed, but her hand refused to leave her pocket and one arm was tensed. "Not at all, Hermione," she said, suddenly suspicious. "I think we're done here. Go now, I have a lesson to prepare for. Best head off to your homeroom."

Hermione nodded, padding silently out of the room, confusion fluttering in her ribcage. She wandered the halls for a while, simply breathing in the fresh air.

She hadn't lost control of her powers for a while now, she pondered, while quietly stalking the shadows of the school. There had been the flame incident, but she could forcibly control those behind closed doors. There was usually a trigger; a scientific method, and that morning there had been none. There was a series of footsteps, and when Hermione had finally glanced upwards, she was nearly run over by the jogger.

"Harrison?" She squeaked, jumping out of the way to prevent herself from getting bowled over.

"Hermione?" He asked, equally confused. They looked at one another for a second before, reluctantly in Hermione's case, recognizing the idiocity of the situation. Harrison burst into cheerful laughter, clapping her on the back and nearly making her stumble over from the impact. He was carrying his backpack on one powerful shoulder, and looked to be in the process of removing his jacket. Despite her lips twitching, she remained aloof, too afraid of getting harmed again.

"Hello Harrison," Hermione said primly, a sliver of coldness injected into her voice. She stifled her smile and adjusted her bag quickly. "How are you doing this morning?" He unconsciously ruffled a few of the bristles stuck up at the base of his skull.

Harrison shot her a crooked smirk. "Very well, Madam. And yourself?" She felt herself blushing to the tips of her ears but maintained her formal composure.

"Fine, Harrison," she said stiffly. He let out a very feminine giggle. Caught by surprise, it was all she could do but close her gaping mouth. Unwillingly a laugh bubbled in the back of her throat and she choked slightly.

"That was informative," she remarked, and he smiled teasingly at her. "At least I got a smile," he said cheekily.

She swatted at him playfully but he dodged with surprising agility. Hermione scowled slightly at that. "Prat."

He smiled genuinely, until his expression altered to resemble something disgustingly conceited. "Indeed," he said pretentiously. "Its part of the charm." He leaned backward onto the lockers and Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling a bit of her natural confidence emerge.

"What charm?" she scoffed in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. For a split second she let herself enjoy the emotion, but then Hermione felt the smile fade from her face as her mouth clamped shut.

"Sorry," she said embarrassedly, but Harrison shook his head.

"Don't be, it's not something I'm used to — " she hastily tried to apologize again, "And that's why it's nice." Hermione blinked a couple of times, unable to contain her surprise.

"Wow, you really are a strange one," she said unthinkingly. She clamped a hand over her mouth again but was cut off by Harrison's uproarious laughter.

"That I am, Hermione," he chuckled. "You are pretty funny, you know." Hermione was doing a remarkable job of impersonating a strawberry. She blushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her ears. All she heard was one word: Pretty, pretty, pretty. The only time she could recall the word being spoken was in a mocking manner.

"I'm so sorry!" She blurted miserably, covering her face with her hands.

"No, no, I'm not saying that to make you feel bad or something," he replied, grimacing, "Bollocks, that would be rude."

"Thanks Harrison," she mumbled, rather unused to compliments. "Thats…" she hesitated slightly. "Very kind of you." For the second time, she allowed herself to ponder the thought that perhaps he wasn't attempting to humiliate and expose her.

"Harry," he corrected nonchalantly. Hermione again blinked in confusion.

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

"Call me Harry," he repeated. "It's a, nickname?"

Hermione let the smallest of grins tug at the corner of her mouth. "Is that a question?"

"Er, no," he mumbled, suddenly rather awkward. Hermione's expression turned into a feral smile as she laughed. Perhaps he wasn't as suave as he had originally portrayed himself. Perhaps, this Harrison, she could get to know. "Yes,. No. I mean no. Yes, that's what I mean. Wait. I mean no. I swear what… no."

Hermione chuckled slightly at his befuddled expression, before her previous hesitation caught up to her. After the small shared moment had faded, all that was left was an abominable silence.

"Well, my class is waiting," she lied quickly, after a couple of seconds of realization. She ran her left hand self-consciously through her bushy mane of hair.

His voice was actually interested, intrigued. "Really, what class?" Hermione shuffled her feet uncertainly.

"Math," she mumbled, her voice betraying the untruth; she had just finished the class for the day. To her surprise, Harrison simply nodded, choosing to either be oblivious or ignore the obvious fallacy.

"Yep, time to go," He confirmed, and she was surprised to see that it was indeed only ten minutes until the bell rang. They both nodded, both albeit confused, and exchanged a cordial, in Hermione's case hesitant, smile.

"Have a nice day," Harrison called over his shoulder, and Hermione quickly ducked into the emerging crowd to avoid being singled out from the rest of her peers. She quickly fell back into the patterns of her everyday life, but her thoughts were repeatedly clouded with confusion.

The next classes seemed to pass in a formidable blur, the only thoughts that penetrated her mind had to do with her mother and Harrison.

 _Harry,_ she inwardly corrected, a small bit of embarrassment tinging her cheeks. It was no longer Harrison - at least, she hoped not. Hermione took a steadying breath. She was calm, she was serene. Maybe if she repeated the phrase she would start to believe it.

Taking another quiet inhale, Hermione stiffened, grasped her binders tightly, and walked into her Literary Class.

"Mr. Larcen," Hermione greeted, smiling in a way of welcome. He muttered something in return, a jumble of words she didn't quite catch.

"Pardon?" She asked, trying her best not to look confused. "I just wanted to ask about my report card." She received a groggy nod of affirmation from the teacher, and she pursed her lips, not quite sure how to proceed.

"Would it…" she stopped again, unsure if he was sleeping. "Have you sent the substantial grades to the University? And the - "

"Forged ones to your parents, yes, I know," he mumbled. "Four As, two Bs and one B+. I did it last night. Your straight As were sent, along with your college and university credits. Your assignment is on your desk, just finish. Quickly." Hermione flushed, more from surprise than anything else, nearly tripping over her own shoes as she scrambled to her desk.

"Sorry sir." She'd been half sure his incoherency was due to lack of slumber. She grappled with a pencil, and finally clutched one inside shaky fingers. She set to work, still slightly curious about the Professor. For a proclaimed genius, he had extremely misplaced social skills. Then again, who was she to compare them? She had no right to judge.

Yet again, she flew through the college course, hazel eyes darting across the paper in determination.

"Done sir," she called immediately after she was finished. A series of checkmarks and vocabulary words dotted the worksheet, and a moving paragraph featuring 78% of them stood prominently out on the back.

"Finally." The word was said with a tinge of grudging respect. "Thirty more seconds than yesterday." He fixed her with a piercing gaze, and Hermione detected a sliver of amusement. She sighed, perplexed at his almost scientific methods of testing her intelligence.

"Sorry Mr. Larcen. I'll do better tomorrow." Now that she had completed the work, he seemed more uninterested than ever. Hermione huffed, mildly annoyed at being a particularly intelligent gerbil.

"See that you do that, Miss Granger. You're excused, I suppose," he said mildly, laying his head back onto his arms. Hermione shook her head, contorting her expression into what could have been a reluctant smile.

She hoped that she wouldn't be as exasperating if she ever reached Mr. Larcen's level of intellect. Despite appearances, he and her both knew that he was the smartest person in the country, let alone the school. She was repeatedly curious why he had chosen to take a humble public school job as a Gifted English Teacher rather than be amongst his peers as a professor at Harvard or Yale.

"Have a good day," she murmured, walking steadily out of the door. She glanced at the clock halfheartedly; there were still a half hour of class. She sighed ruefully.

* * *

Hermione bit on her lip determinedly. A bush mane of hair behind her, she quickly pushed, avoiding the jostling elbows, and promptly tripped and almost fell on her face. She straightened, her face an inferno, and walked more steadily on.

"Hermione?" The voice was quiet and she almost missed it.

"John?" she echoed, just as silently. She turned her head to the side slightly, and caught sight of a tuft of dirty black hair.

"John," she said, smiling, reaching out her hand and allowing her brother to grasp his lithe fingers around hers. "What are you doing?" He shrugged, his extroverted personality shining through as his mouth curved into the slightest of smirks.

"Hiding?" He guessed mischievously. She ruffled his locks, cuffing his ear slightly and retook his hand. They trekked along the cobbled pathway silently, and thankfully, John recognized her hesitation as unusual. He prodded her hip curiously, a genuine look of worry crossing his freckled face.

"Herm… Are you all right?" Hermione blinked slightly, turning to face him. She schooled her face into a smiling one, and nodded.

"Of course I am," she said briskly. "Now, tell me about 'hiding'…" Cheeriness resumed, John proceeded to tell her about his grand endeavor, using large hand motions to describe the actions of himself and his deemed monsters.

"And then, I told him that he couldn't say that to El! Can you believe what he did next? He actually called me a 'sissy'!" He stopped for a second to huff, and Hermione marveled at the similarities between her and her younger, happier counterpart. "I mean, who even says that? It's a stupid word, 'sissy'. And then he refused to let me play with his toy train! How unfair is _that_?" Hermione chuckled at him, silently praising that the influences of his family hadn't swayed his moral compass.

"I'm very proud of you John. You did the right thing." He nodded sensibly, the beginnings of a grin forming on his face.

"On a completely unrelated note…" his lips curved into a wicked grin. "You wouldn't happen to have any rotten eggs, do you?" Hermione gasped, horrified and yet oddly amused.

"John!" Her reprimand was completely warm, however, and she too was chuckling slightly at the end. "Well,… I wouldn't normally encourage this… but he did call Elena Gornet a bad word. Honestly! Swears; at your age too. We can't have that, can we?" John cheered energetically, and though she was enjoying herself, her instincts forced her to quiet him immediately.

"Hush John." He quieted, but kept the gloating bounce in his step as he followed her lead. "Jennifer is going to be quite upset with me. I shouldn't have taken you home." John scowled, irritably.

"The last time they called El that name, I punched him." Hermione bit back a laugh, remembering that particular incident. "And I got in trouble for it! Me! In trouble!" He paused dramatically and she just rolled her eyes at him. "And Mom just let it happen!" He flailed his arms in disbelief. "She said that no one would say that word and though I told her he had, she just told me not to punch him!"

Hermione's felt resentment budding in her throat and she forced herself not to react. "Well, your mother is entitled to her own opinion. You little troublemaker, you just do what you think is right. And if all goes wrong, I can always kidnap you and we can sail across the seas to Ireland."

John laughed, anger forgotten. "And what about the money? How would we get there?" Hermione sighed, it was a question that had, countless times, prevented her from running away.

"We'd make do," she decided. "We'd ride the high seas and become bandits. Can you help me think of a good pirate name?" John's face rippled into something more logical, revealing the potent awareness behind his mischievous mask.

"Hmm," he murmured, looking quite thoughtful. "We'd have to be like spies, something that wouldn't show our identity. Something like, the Irish Fellows or something, and you could cut off your hair and pretend to be a boy."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And why would I do that, exactly?"

He grinned at her, "Another test? Well, while being female isn't a disadvantage in modern life, when we plunder and loot we would be more intimidating as men rather than two females. Men typically have larger muscle mass, and while you certainly could throw a punch, I'd rather they be scared _then_ impressed."

"But," Hermione nodded her head, "have you considered making them underestimate us? If I was to go alone, all they would see was a kindly girl on a ship. If you were to jump out from behind, we would also be able to subdue them with the element of surprise."

John brightened. "I didn't think of it like that. Well, then, the Irish Duo we are. We can't say that we will make a very intimidating pair," John flexed his wiry arms dryly, and bounced back up and down to demonstrate, "But we'll certainly make an exciting team. And plus, if they think we're from Ireland, they'll have no idea that we're from the United States."

Hermione laughed at him, "You've certainly thought this through." He nodded cheerfully.

"Of course I have. I'm me." He grinned at her. "Now come _on_ Herm, we're almost home." He grasped her hand and tugged her eagerly towards the house. She laughed quietly, allowing him to lead her into the door.

"Finally!" He said in exasperation. "Hermione, if there's one thing I've learned in the past it's that you are the slowest walker in the history of slow walkers!" Hermione's smile faded as she recalled her dream the previous night, her mother repeating a phrase that sounded eerily similar.

"That's me," she said, chuckling weakly, attempting to keep up the happy atmosphere. He let go of her hand, and Hermione watched him run into the kitchen, what had once been the pride of her mother, unburdened and untainted.

Inwardly, her heart collapsed in on itself. "I never run."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! Sorry for the slow update,_ _ _I know_ it's been a while. I appreciate all of you sticking with me over the period I've been absent.  
_

 _Love, Kathie_


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